The Pendulum of Redemption
by LFB72
Summary: Morgana discovers Merlin lying alone and injured in the woods, vowing to make the vulnerable servant pay for all he has done. Contains Merlin Whump, Hurt and Comfort and Bromance. Warning: Mentions of blood and a graphic description of a broken leg.


**Well, it has been awhile but I finally got around to writing this little one shot.**

**I would like to thank Caldera32 for being my Beta and for providing support over the last few months when I was tied up with a project from work and could only dream of fanfiction. She is a very talented lady and also provided the cover art.**

**This is a little different from the other stories but I hope you like it. As always, your opinions are very welcome.**

**WARNING: Mentions of blood and a graphic description of a broken leg.**

* * *

The Pendulum of Redemption

Morgana walked confidently, her long black skirt picking up leaves and detritus as she moved. It was not a practical garment for the woods but she felt empowered wearing it. The functionality of clothes was no longer an issue. Morgana could wield a sword with as much precision as any knight, but to what end? Her strength came from magic and she could slay any opponent in a blink of an eye. Her enemies may have taken her throne and home but they would not take her dignity; she was still a lady and demanded respect. The form-fitting dress complimented her but it was not worn for the titillation of men. She intimidated the so-called stronger sex, most being all too eager to submit to her will and kiss her feet – but not all._ I will find a way to reclaim my crown and then they will be sorry._

The witch stilled, senses on alert, she scanned the trees and saw it. There was something very familiar about the crumpled figure lying half-hidden in the undergrowth. The body was resting at the bottom of a sheer drop and would be missed if not for a flash of bright red and blue, so unnatural against the muted browns and greens of the earth. There was only one person it could be; even with torn clothes, caked in mud and stained crimson, there was no mistaking the dark hair and pale skin of the king's manservant. His long limbs were arranged at awkward angles; the right leg was tucked under him and the left was shortened and rotated. Two shards of bone had broken free of the flesh that housed them and pointed skyward like the jagged tooth of some fearsome beast. The servant's arm rested over his side and the other stretched high above his head. His fingers were lax but the clawing in the dirt suggested he had made a futile attempt to stop his descent.

The witch lengthened her stride, eager to reach her quarry. His downfall may not have been her doing but she could still profit from it. Merlin would pay for everything he'd done; he could not slip away this time – trapped like a fly in a web. She was a power to be reckoned with and the full brunt of that formidable force was about to be unleashed. Her mouth curled into a cruel smirk. _Oh how I will enjoy this._

She approached with feline grace, taking her time to crouch down to examine the body. Morgana licked her lip, tilted her head and took in the delicious sight of the man who had been nothing but a thorn in her side. He was completely helpless, alone and broken. He was a lame creature, left for a predator to feed upon. At first she feared it was too late and the servant was already dead or unconscious but she was pleased to find him semi-awake. She would be saved the effort of physical torture – fate had seen fit to do that for her. His injuries were obviously excruciating, and she felt a thrill of pleasure as the young man groaned, trying to move. He let out an agonised whimper and sweat beaded on his brow – too pathetic to adjust his own position.

"Hello, Merlin," she cooed, so softly it was almost a whisper.

The young man contorted in pain. His head turned in the direction of her voice and he made a vain effort to focus his gaze.

"Over here, Merlin," she said, as if offering a small child treats.

_Come on, look at me. I'm right in front of you._ The witch could barely contain her excitement as she watched the servant's half-lidded eyes search for her. Eventually the deep blue orbs stilled and met hers – they were clouded but had certainly found the mark, all attention now focused on the woman before him - scrutinising her. She waited; heart racing in anticipation of his fear and loathing when he realised who she was.

He smiled.

The gesture was not in contempt or fear but genuine warmth. His eyes sparkled for a moment, like the dying flame of a candle given new life. He even attempted to bring his hand towards her face. Morgana flinched, drawing back violently – she'd not registered how close she'd been until he tried to touch her. No one had looked at her like that in a long time, not since she'd been a lady of the court and potential suitors tried to win her favour. Then it would have been with reverence and they would always break eye contact first – his behaviour unnerved her.

"You're going to die, Merlin," she managed to spit out.

His face dropped, the lids shut out the light of his eyes and there was a barely discernible nod. "I know… it's why you're here," he rasped, looking away. He took a moment to find his breath, and then gazed upon her once more. Deep blue irises seemed to burn into her soul, she could not bear it, nor could she tear herself away.

Mortality had always fascinated her; she was an orphan after all - or so she had believed. It was Uther's fault her parents had died and she'd hated him for it. Arthur and this servant had somehow been responsible for Morgause's fall and they too would face the consequences - just as all those who wronged her did. As High Priestess she was practically immortal - which gave a certain confidence. There was only one who could truly hurt her but not if she destroyed him first.

"Are you not afraid?" There was an edge to her voice this time, a bitterness seeping through the curiosity. "You will have to answer for all you have done."

The betrayal still hurt; it was a wound that had never healed, only festered. He'd poisoned her, turned his back like all the rest, and she would never forgive him. Morgause had told her not to waste the energy, to channel it instead. Never again would Morgana rely on another; no human would earn her trust. She would play the game as she had with the fools Agravaine and Helios, always for her gain. A moan tore her from her thoughts; his voice was so quiet she could barely hear him.

"I'm sorry...I made mistakes..." he struggled to speak, coughing as he tried to clear the fluid from his throat.

Morgana stilled. _Now he has the gall to apologise – to grovel for forgiveness?_ She'd not forced him to say it – he was not under duress and, on reflection, the tone was pragmatic and resigned as if he weren't speaking to her at all. These were words she would never say, words of weakness. Still, his was an admission of guilt, an acknowledgment of the pain he had caused her.

"Hold me?" He croaked.

She should have been repulsed but instead was drawn towards him. Morgana could not explain it. She would claim it was only to hear, to cradle his skull just enough so he could speak more clearly – for any information she could gain could be used to her advantage. His scalp was sticky; the hair matted with leaves and congealed blood. Supporting the weight of his head was hard as the servant could not do it anymore, his time was nearly up.

"Not long, Freya," he smiled once more.

Morgana froze, bile rising to her mouth. _Freya? Who? _Was everything merely the delusional ramblings of one close to death?_ He does not recognise me? This is why he does not cower?_ Merlin never had, though; he'd put up a good fight when she'd had him trussed up once before. He'd not wavered or bargained and had shown nothing but contempt until a serpent ended such impertinence. Even under the influence of the fomorroh he was not hers for long, loyal to a false king.

Perhaps if she knew who this girl was… knowledge was power after all. Merlin shifted; they were so close now she could feel the warmth of his breath, and then his lips brushed against hers. She did not pull away. This would be the final triumph because he would know it was not his love he kissed but a witch. That's what she told herself as his lips pressed against hers, soft and tender. There was no fight for dominance, just a passion that she'd never experienced before - a coil of pleasure that was not meant for her but she would take it nonetheless. _This will destroy him_ she told herself as she kissed back, senses on fire and craving more.

This time his hand did reach her cheek. He managed to caress her skin for a moment before his arm flopped down, the muscles too weak to sustain the position any longer. His head followed, too heavy to hold up, and his mouth stilled. Morgana could taste the residue of copper on her tongue and could feel the staccato beat of his heart slow, struggling to keep going. He would die soon and still he did not see. _He has to know it's me. _Her right hand rested on his sunken chest and she fought the urge to claw at the marred flesh to make him look - then he did. Merlin opened his eyes; they were clouded with pain but he held her gaze and smiled.

"Beautiful."

She let out a screech that made the birds flee the trees. She pulled at his hair and cursed him for making her feel, for making tears prick at the back of her eyes for the first time since she'd lost her sister.

"You kissed a monster, Merlin. I've killed," she sneered.

The air stilled and all fell silent, as if the gods themselves awaited his response.

The servant slowly blinked, then refocused. "Yes." He nodded, "Me too."

The witch let go of the breath she'd been holding. "I enjoyed it!" She screamed and this time tears did flow as her head dropped and her shoulders began to shake.

His hand found hers, barely flexing around the fingers, "It's never too late to change."

Her head came up, defiant.

Merlin's expression was earnest with no disgust or fear. "Remember that, Morgana." A small smile, then his eyes slid shut for the final time.

"NO!" She yelled, "No."

She'd been cheated – he'd known it was her. He'd tricked her and at that moment she hated him for it. It was not supposed to be like this; she was the one in control. The witch lifted her right hand and slammed it down onto his chest. She felt a spike of pain in her palm and wondered if she had torn through the flesh and impaled herself on his shattered ribs. There was a sharp tug on her magic, then another - stronger than the first. She looked down, horrified to see her fingers melded to the skin of his chest – she could not draw them away. Morgana's magic stirred and her eyes burned gold, this time it felt like something had latched onto it. Then it began to flow, in great waves as strong as the ocean tide.

She watched in fascination as her magic poured into the wrecked figure beneath her hand. Light infused the chest cavity, bright like a beacon. It began to circulate around his body, travelling first throughout his trunk before branching off to the neck and head, arms, and legs. Everywhere the golden river flowed muscles and joints shifted and realigned, clicking and clunking as they went. Wounds closed, skin knitted back together, and his ribs filled out like a barrel rather than the broken cage they'd been previously. When the light reached the tibia and fibula the two pieces of broken bone slowly sank down like the twin sails of a ship disappearing beneath the waves of a crimson sea. The left leg twisted and, with a sickening crunch, elongated so it matched the right one.

As the magic did its work Morgana thought of her sister Morgause, of all the things they'd done to try and save the high priestess. All the spells, rituals, sacrifices - both animal and human. They had not worked, had not been enough. Yet a force more powerful than anything she had ever felt before would spare this servant – a worthless nobody. It was not fair, it was not right, she did not understand.

Suddenly, it stopped. The light faded in the same way as the sun set at the end of the day. There was a long pause, then Merlin gasped and as he exhaled a fine gold mist filled the air. It hovered between them for a moment before the borrowed magic returned to its owner, seeping into her skin and feeling both alien and achingly familiar.

Morgana was visibly shaken and drained – she'd just performed powerful magic yet she had no idea how. There had been no words, no incantations, it was like her gift had been taken and manipulated by something greater than herself – but that was not possible. She trembled, withdrawing her hand – it was covered in dried blood. She looked down, Merlin's chest rose and fell in a steady and strong rhythm. _Why so hard to kill? _It was as if the gods denied it. She still kept a dagger strapped to her ankle and toyed with the idea of plunging it into his heart – only she was scared to do so. Even as a seer, Morgana had not foreseen this – couldn't have predicted it. _What would happen if I took his life now? Do I even want to?_ None of this was in her control and she didn't like it, could not stand it any longer and had to get away.

The sound of horses came from the distance, she could ill afford to be found – not sure how her magic would respond to an ambush. Merlin was alive for now, but he had lost a lot of blood and was still exposed to the elements. Nature could claim him for herself, it was not Morgana's fate to take his life this time - there would be other opportunities in the future.

Company was approaching, and as Morgana made her exit she spared a glance at the still man. His position was not immediately obvious, there was still a possibility he would not be found – she could not decide if she should hide the body or make it more visible._ Not my decision._ As she turned and ran, for the first time in a long time, retaining her throne and disposing of her brother was not the only thought that consumed her. She craved company, a kindred spirit. Perhaps she did not have to be alone, she thought of the little white dragon that had healed her all those months ago - its innocence and compassion. Maybe being with a creature of the old religion would help her understand_. Yes, find Aithusa, that is what I shall do._

Leaving behind no evidence of her presence, the witch left with a new purpose to pursue.

* * *

Something poked at his neck, making it sore. Merlin tried to open his eyes but it was too bright; he caught flashes of red and silver before the intensity of the vision was too much and he closed them again. There were shouts and the sounds of many men thundering about. Everything ached. He was aware of being moved, pain shooting through his limbs causing him to yell. He fought to locate his magic, ready to defend himself, but his gift only fizzed and churned - too difficult to catch. Just as panic filled his heart, he heard his name and felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Merlin, Merlin can you hear me?"

The voice was authoritative and familiar; though there was a slight waver that was not usually present in the king's tone. In his befuddled state Merlin wondered what could cause Arthur to sound worried. He had to see if the monarch was in danger.

The image was very blurry, a blond blob on a crimson body, but there was no one else that matched. "Arrt..." he attempted.

"Merlin!"

Strong arms enveloped the servant in a hug - it hurt like hell.

"Ahh!"

The warmth quickly withdrew.

"Sorry."

"Prat!"

A triumphant chuckle and a gentle pat was the last thing he remembered before slipping into the relative bliss of unconsciousness.

* * *

The next time Merlin awoke, he was back in the physician's quarters. He'd barely opened his mouth when a spoon loaded with a foul-tasting concoction was rammed into the orifice. The bitter fluid hit the back of his throat, making him cough and bringing tears to his eyes. Blinking away the moisture, he saw Gaius standing in front of him. The old man took a firm grasp of Merlin's jaw and used his other hand to check under the patient's eyelids. The servant's head was rotated side to side and up and down before finally he was instructed to stick out his tongue.

"How are you feeling?" The question was accompanied by a raised eyebrow.

Merlin reclaimed his tongue and swallowed. "Sore… but ok... I guess," the ward replied hesitantly.

"Do you remember what happened?" the king asked.

Merlin's head shot up, he'd not noticed the monarch standing next to him, arms folded over his chest.

"I... er... fell..."

Arthur interrupted. "Are you sure that's all, Merlin? You were covered in blood," his voice going up an octave. The royal's hands fisted and released several times before resting on his hips, "You mentioned... Morgana - did she do this to you? Because if..."

"Sire!" Gaius scolded, and he fixed the monarch with a stern glare. "This is not helping."

Merlin rubbed his head and looked quizzically between the two men. "I was collecting herbs; there was a patch of coltsfoot, but the grass was wet and I slipped..."

Merlin remembered using his magic to slow time, preventing himself from plummeting down the steep embankment. He'd thrown himself backward, which would have been fine if not for the sharp bolder that intercepted his head. It seemed fate was determined he would fall that day - or rather be hurled down a steep hill hitting every rock and tree stump en route. The warlock neglected to mention that part. "I don't remember much after that."

Gaius gave a curt nod, "Merlin's injuries are consistent with a fall from a height. He's lucky to have escaped with a concussion, scrapes, and bruising. It's miraculous there are no broken bones." The physician gave his ward a pointed look.

"But all the blood, Gaius - where did it come from?" The royal said, exasperated and pacing about the small room, "There was so much!"

"I am at a loss, Your Highness – Merlin did have some semi-healed cuts that could have bled a lot initially or he could have simply rolled in something on the way down – a carcass maybe?" Gaius offered.

Arthur visibly recoiled, bringing a hand to his mouth.

"You really think that's possible?"

"Sire, where Merlin is concerned, I think anything is possible."

The king was silent for a moment, then rounded on his friend, pointing a finger at the skinny man's bandaged chest, "Only you, Merlin, could end up damaged by a bunch of flowers."

"Plants can be dangerous – they can kill," the servant said somewhat churlishly.

"Oh, so I should send Gwaine with you every time you go to pick herbs?" Came the retort.

"No." The dark-haired man was indignant, "I can look after myself."

"Clearly." The king huffed, he was about to say something else when he noticed Merlin flinch and furrow his brow. The man looked tired, he was pale, and the only thing stopping him blending into the bed linen was the shock of black hair. Arthur relented; he knew he shouldn't make fun of the situation but it was the only way to banish the images that plagued his thoughts – a still form at the bottom of a ravine.

"Get some rest, Merlin, you look terrible." Arthur pinched his nose and pushed aside the pictures of the battered body with dull eyes. _Merlin is here, Merlin is safe._

"Thanks." The servant replied.

The king had to leave, did not trust himself to stay any longer lest he give himself away. His friend would be alright, he'd seen for himself. Perhaps tonight he would sleep without nightmares.

"Well," Arthur clapped his hands together, "the sooner you get better, the sooner you can get back to work." He gave his servant a sardonic smile. Turning swiftly, he headed out the room, calling out over his shoulder as he went.

"Whilst you're languishing about in bed my armour is not going to polish itself."

_If only you knew_, thought the warlock. Merlin's head dropped back onto the pillow and he let out a sigh.

"He was very worried about you," Gaius said softly.

The warlock merely grunted in response. He suddenly felt exhausted and as the edges of his vision became fuzzy, he wondered what Gaius had given him.

"What really happened, Merlin?" the physician urged.

"I've told you, I tried to stop the fall then I hit my head and I don't remember."

"The blood was yours – all of it. The rips in your clothing matched marks that I've never seen before, scars that look old. I think you broke your leg and it was healed by magic - other injuries too, like the contusions to your chest. There is no other explanation; that fall should have killed you.

It made Merlin light-headed when he thought about the times he should have died. The same thoughts always overwhelmed his mind; he'd failed Arthur and would be incapable of resolving the mistakes he'd made - especially with Morgana. When the warlock recovered, the relief at getting a second chance was always immense, but tinged with sadness for being unable to join his beloved Freya. Her face was so clear in his memories – maybe she really had been there and healed him? _She's helped me before_.

"Perhaps it was Freya..." he trailed off; it was still difficult to speak about her out loud, even after all the years. "I don't know." He shrugged, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

Gaius embraced him gently, "No matter, you're safe now my boy and that's what's important."

As the physician withdrew, he let his hand remain on his ward's shoulder for a moment. "Sleep now and regain your strength." He allowed himself a small smile but the young man did not see it, his lids had already closed.

Gaius would not tell his surrogate son that he'd called out his love's name or that the king had questioned it. The physician told Arthur that Merlin had also cried for his father, Will, and Lancelot- all people he presumed his ward had lost and the royal did not pursue it after that.

Merlin gave into sleep and began to dream. He dreamt of the lady Morgana, not the bitter and twisted witch but how she'd been when he'd first come to Camelot; the fierce, independent woman who would do anything for her friends. He wondered where she was now and if there were any way back from the destructive course she was travelling. He found it hard to imagine what event could turn her from the path of hate and revenge but he had to hope. Perhaps one day they could be reconciled? With that, he fell deeper into the healing abyss where his body could repair itself and would resurface anew. He had no idea the days events had already wrought a change in the witch or even that he had met her. Destiny and doom; Emrys had unwittingly helped the witch let some love back into her heart, her guard was now down - this would soon lead to her capture by a fearsome warlord.

The warlock slept on, completely obvious - sometimes it was better that way.

The End

* * *

I hope you enjoyed that - I've never written Morgana before. Please let me know your thoughts on the story.

I have another idea has been brewing for the last few months and now I'm finally in a position to do something about it. It will be longer than this one with some whump and BAMF Merlin, so until then,

Good bye and Thank you for reading!


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